


A Good Enough Reason

by PennyLane



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyLane/pseuds/PennyLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Curry takes an injured Heyes to Devil's Hole to recuperate, he has to contend with a gunslinger who is out to make a name for himself - by taking down Kid Curry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Enough Reason

"Just what is it with you anyway? What is it you think you've gotta prove?"

 

Jed 'Kid' Curry gazed levelly at the agitated man across the room, then walked over to join him, dropping easily into the chair by the bed. "Heyes, you're getting yourself all worked up about nothin'." Laying a firm hand on his cousin's chest, he tried to push him back down. "Why don't you lay down and try to get some rest –"

 

"I don't want to rest," Heyes snapped, swatting Curry's hand away. "I want some answers."

 

"About you and Frank McKee."

 

Curry's face remained expressionless and his blue eyes perfectly unreadable. It was a look Heyes had seen countless times as the Kid had silently measured an opponent. "'Fraid I don't understand the question."

 

Heyes pushed himself closer to the edge of the bed, ignoring the warning twinge in his side, and leaned toward the Kid. "You understand the question all right," he said angrily. "And I want know what – if anything – is goin' through that thick skull of yours!"

 

There was only one man on earth who could get away with talking to Kid Curry like that, and they both knew it. But instead of the burst of temper Heyes expected in return, he received only a slight smile. "You always were grumpy when you were sick," Curry noted amiably, pushing himself to his feet and turning to leave. "I'll come back when you're in better humor."

 

Recklessly, Heyes jumped to his feet and took a step after him, trying to snag his arm. "Kid, you're not leavin' here 'til –" A sudden stab of pain caught him by surprise and he nearly doubled over, catching his breath in a sharp gasp. Almost immediately, strong hands caught him under his arms and he found himself being eased back onto the bed.

 

"Aw, Heyes, what did I tell you?" the Kid said softly. "C'mon now, lay back down before you hurt yourself."

  
"Too late," he grunted, allowing Curry to lower him back onto the mattress. When he was again flat on his back, he shut his eyes against the angry reawakened throbbing in his side and tried to will his breathing back to normal. After a moment he felt the warm, pleasing weight of a quilt settle over him.

 

"You okay now? You want somethin' to drink?"

 

Hearing the undisguised concern in his cousin's voice, Heyes opened his eyes and managed a lopsided grin. "No, I'm okay. Just moved a little too fast is all."

 

"It's only been a few days," the Kid reminded him quietly. "You've never been shot this bad before, Heyes, so you'd better listen to someone who _has_. If you don't take it easy, that hole's not gonna heal up proper." Then, for the first time, his eyes brightened with a hint of humor, and his voice softened into a wry drawl. "And I really don't fancy kidnappin' a doctor and draggin' him into Devil's Hole to patch you up. Lom might not appreciate it – not to mention what the governor might say."

 

"All right, I get the message."

 

"Just so's you remember it." The Kid patted him on the arm and started to stand. "Now get some rest."

 

"Wait a minute, Kid." Curry stopped as Heyes' fingers caught the material of his shirtsleeve. "I'm not through talkin' yet."

 

With a barely stifled sight of exasperation, Curry dropped back into the chair. "Just what is it you're not through talkin' about?"

 

There was a wariness in his cousin's eyes that hadn't been there before, and Heyes noted it silently. "You know what I'm talkin' about, Kid. You and McKee."

 

"What about me and McKee?"

 

For an instant, Heyes felt his anger flare, but he stifled it with an effort. Yelling at the Kid would only result in the Kid yelling back, and that wouldn't resolve anything. "He's trying to push you into a fight."

 

"I know."

 

"So what are you planning' on doin' about it?"

 

"Not plannin' on doin' anything about it."

 

With a frustrated shake of his head, Heyes pushed himself up on his elbows. "Kid –"

 

"Heyes, you know I'm not gonna start anything with McKee," Curry said disapprovingly.

 

Still propped on his elbows, Heyes studied his cousin's closed face, knowing with chilling certainty what thoughts lay behind those imperturbable blue eyes. "Yeah, I know that," he agreed, his words carefully measured. "But I also know you won't walk away from it if he does." He paused. "Will you?"

 

The unwavering gaze they had been holding was broken abruptly as Curry flicked his gaze away.

 

"Why, Kid?"

 

Curry was staring a hole in the far wall of the cabin. "Why what?"

 

"Why is it," Heyes demanded, his voice rising in direct proportion to his growing agitation, "that if two gunslingers pass within ten minutes of one another, they can't rest 'til they find out which one of 'em is faster?"

 

Curry's eyes snapped back to his face in the first sign of emotion he'd shown. "I'm not like that, Heyes, and you know it!"

 

"Then why is it," Heyes continued steadily, "that you won't walk away from someone who's deliberately trying to goad you into a showdown just to prove a point?'

 

"A man don't back down from a fight," Curry retorted bluntly.

 

"He does if there's a good enough reason."

 

The Kid frowned. "What reason?"

 

Heyes took a deep breath and held it for a moment. "I'm askin' you to."

 

Uncertainty flickered across the younger man's face. "What?"

 

"I'm askin' you to," Heyes repeated. "I've never asked you for anything like this before, Kid."

 

Curry's head bobbed in a slow nod. "And I'm kinda wonderin'," he said in a neutral voice, "why you're askin' me now. If it comes to it, you think I couldn't take him?" There it was…that flash of wounded pride in his eyes.

 

If Heyes had been feeling stronger, he would have seriously considered trying to shake some sense into his cousin. "I don't know if you could take him or not," he answered sharply. "But I'll tell you this – I'm not real anxious to find out."

 

Quite unexpectedly, the Kid ducked his head, and for the next several moments, Heyes found himself studying a thicket of dark blond curls as Curry stared silently at his boots. When he finally raised his head again, Heyes was startled by the shadow of resignation he saw in the younger man's eyes. "And maybe I'm not either, Heyes," Curry admitted quietly. "But maybe I just won't have any choice."

 

Looking at the Kid's face, Heyes was reminded that there had been many times in the past when that had been true. Too many times.  How ironic, he reflected briefly, that a man who had spent so much of his life trying to _avoid_ killing anyone carried around the reputation of one of the most feared guns in the West. Closing his eyes, Heyes gave his head a shake. If people only knew.

 

His cousin's usual solution in a gunfight was to simply discourage any gunplay – and when his gun was already drawn and cocked before his opponent's had even cleared leather, that had rarely been a problem. He only pulled the trigger when he had no choice, and only then in self-defense and to disarm. Despite stories to the contrary, there had been one, and only one, exception. If ever a man had deserved killing, it was Danny Billson. It had been no more than justice and they both knew it; and knowing that, Heyes, realized, was the only way the Kid had been able to live with it. But this was different. There was no justice to be served here. McKee was simply a gunman whose sole objective was to prove he was faster than Kid Curry. And if the Kid allowed himself to be pulled into a showdown with him, McKee would give him no choice: he would either have to kill or be killed.

 

"You have a choice, Kid. I'm askin' you to walk away from it."

 

There was the barest tightening of the muscles in Curry's jaw. "Can't do that>

 

That did it. Heyes made one last feeble attempt to corral his flaring temper and failed spectacularly. "I don't understand you! What is it you're tryin' to prove? That you're faster than McKee? Is it worth your life to find that out? Kid, he's a killer! The only way you can prove that is to kill him before he kills you! Is that what you want?"

 

"Heyes, you know I don't –"

 

"What is it you think you've gotta prove?" Pushing himself up all the way, Heyes leaned forward, his voice fierce. "You don't have to prove anything to anybody, Kid. You know who you are."

 

"Maybe that's the problem, Heyes," his cousin noted in a tone edged with weariness. "I know who I am – and so does McKee."

 

Giving his head a brief shake, Heyes lowered himself carefully back onto the mattress and waited until the feather pillow had molded around the back of his head before he spoke. "You know your problem, Kid?" he posed, in a voice that was deliberately light. "You're startin' to believe all those things they've been writing' about you. Guess once we get our amnesty I'll just have to straighten everyone out 'bout you."

 

But the smile he had been hoping to coax out of the Kid never appeared. Instead, Curry transferred his attention once again to his boots. "You still believe we're gonna get that amnesty?"

 

"I gotta believe that," Heyes said seriously. "Else I guess I'd just have to stop believin' in anything." He eyes his cousin sharply from his supine position. "Not givin' up on me, are you, Kid? Not after everything we've been through in the last two years?"

 

Curry didn't answer immediately. But finally, he looked up, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "I guess not. Like you say…be a shame to waste all that honest livin' we've been doin'." Then, reaching out, he clapped Heyes lightly on the arm. "Now get some rest, will ya? You look awful." Standing up, he walked over to the small table where he'd tossed his hat earlier and settled it on his head.

 

"Where you goin'?"

 

His cousin didn't look back as he headed for the door. "Out. Got some thinkin' to do."

 

"Kid –"

 

Curry stopped with his hand on the door handle and looked back with an air of exasperation. "I'll try to stay out of McKee's way, okay? But I can't promise you any more than that. See you later, Heyes." And, with that, he was gone.

 

Heyes closed his eyes against the headache that was raging instead his skull and took a deep, slow breath. There had to be something he could do. There had to be some way he could get through to the Kid and make him understand. If he could figure a way to blow a Pierce and Hamilton, he should surely be able to figure a way to get his cousin out of Frank McKee's gun sights, right? Raising his arm, he dropped it over his eyes and sighed. Well, he'd better figure out something soon, because he had a feeling time was running out. It was this damn gunshot wound, he decided irritably. He still felt weak and lousy, and it was interfering with his thinking.

 

The sound of rapid, methodical gunfire outside shattered the afternoon stillness, and Heyes lifted his arm from his eyes, listening soberly. The Kid's way of thinking things out.

 

The persistent throbbing ache in his side annoyed him, and he shifted carefully, trying to find a more comfortable position. He knew he was lucky to be alive at all. If it hadn't been for the Kid's dogged persistence, he wouldn't be. Heyes felt a smile tug at his lips. Typical Curry stubbornness. Anyone else would have given up on him. Anyone else would have acknowledged that the odds were way too long. Anyone but the Kid.

 

They never saw the man who bushwacked them on the trail not long after they'd crossed into Wyoming on the way to Porterville. He'd never even heard the shot that slammed into him with the force of a freight train, toppling him from his horse.

 

Even now, Heyes couldn't clearly remember much after that until he woke up safe and alive in their old hideout at Devil's Hole. Somehow, Curry had gotten the bullet out and kept him from bleeding to death while he brought him to the nearest place of safely he could think of. They'd been there almost a week now, and that had been more than enough time for him to see what was going on with the Kid and Frank McKee.

 

McKee. Heyes scowled. It was true that Devil's Hole offered sanctuary to outlaws on the run, but Wheat should've drawn the line at McKee. Jed Curry was a man with a conscience who, despite his supreme confidence in his own ability, had never drawn first on another man. Frank McKee was a cold-blooded killer who had built his fame on the bodies of those he'd pushed into gunfights. Taking down Kid Curry would guarantee a reputation as the most feared  gun in the West.

 

Heyes rubbed his eyes wearily. He thought all this was behind them when they became Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones. Oh, the Kid still drew trouble to himself like a magnet, but at least there hadn't been any gunslingers out there who thought they could make a name for themselves by taking on a drifter called Jones. But here in Devil's Hole, where he was Kid Curry again, the Kid might as well be wearing a bulls-eye on his chest. He was a tempting target for any would-be gunman out to make his reputation.

 

The sound of the door opening jarred Heyes out of his thoughts, and he twisted his head around as Wheat Carlson stepped inside. Heyes followed his progress silently as the new leader of the Gang headed for the stove in the center of the room.

 

"Heyes," was all Wheat said by way of greeting.

 

Mindful of his earlier mistake, Heyes slowly pulled himself up and carefully eased his legs over the side of the bed. "Wheat. I was hopin' to get a chance to talk to you today."

 

Wheat poured himself a cup of coffee and turned to face him. "What's on your mind?"

 

It hadn't been a reunion without its share of strain. Both men were acutely aware of the fact that only two short years ago it had been Heyes who had led the Devil's Hole Gang and that Wheat had been taking orders from him. And while Wheat had turned his cabin over to Heyes and the Kid in deference to his injury, they both realized that Carlson would be a happier man when Heyes was well enough to move on.

 

Heyes settled his most affable expression on his features. "I think we've got a problem here, Wheat." He knew he had to be careful how he approved Wheat with this. It had always been the leader's prerogative to decide who could stay at Devil's Hole and who had to leave; and Wheat was the leader now, not him.

 

Wheat took a slurping drink of the coffee and eyed him suspiciously. "What kind'a problem?"

 

"The Kid and Frank McKee."

 

Wheat relaxed his stance and nodded shortly. "I seen it. But I can't see where it's my problem, Heyes. It's 'tween the Kid and McKee."

 

Heyes stroke to keep his tone reasonable. "I know McKee isn't a member of the Gang, but if he's stayin' here at Devil's Hole, he's gotta abide by the rules, don't he?"

 

"No rules against gunplay, Heyes. Never has been." Wheat snorted. "And If there were, the Kid would've been thrown out a long time ago."

 

Abandoning his reasonable tone, Heyes leaned forward suddenly, his voice intense. "We don't need this kind'a trouble, Wheat. The Kid and I have been working' for that amnesty a long time now. Somethin' like this could ruin everything we've worked for."

 

Wheat studied the coffee in his cup for a moment before answering. "Then maybe you'd better think of gettin' the Kid away from here, Heyes," he suggested bluntly. "'Cause I've seen the look in McKee's eyes – he means to go after the Kid. And I don't know of anyone here who'd have a mind to try and stop him." Turning back to the stove, he picked up the coffee pot and poured some more of the black liquid into his cup. "Y'know," he said casually, "a couple'a years ago, the Kid never wouldn've let it go this long. He'd've taken McKee the first time he'd prodded  'im."

 

"The Kid's changed, Wheat," Heyes said sharply. "We both have." Back when they were outlawin', the Kid's temper had been every bit as quick as his draw; and no member of the Gang – not even Wheat – had ever been reckless enough to want to be caught on the wrong side of one of his explosions.

 

Wheat nodded. "Somethin's changed," he agreed. "But I think you ought'a know, some of the boys are sayin' that maybe there's another reason the Kid hasn't taken on McKee."

 

Heyes frowned. "What reason?"

 

"They're sayin' that maybe the Kid's lost his nerve."

 

"That what you think, Wheat?"

 

Carlson stiffened noticeably at the sound of the icy, controlled voice that seemed to materialize from nowhere. Then, very slowly, he turned to face the man filling the doorway, careful to keep the cup prominently displayed in his right hand. "Didn't say I believed it, Kid," he said steadily. "Just said others were sayin' it."

 

Curry stepped into the cabin and walked slowly to within a few feet of Carlson, then stopped, his thumbs hooked casually under his gunbelt. To anyone who didn't know him, it would have seemed an almost careless stance. But Heyes and Wheat both knew better. "You can tell the boys," Curry said in a deadly cold tone, "that if they have anything to say about that, they can come here and say it to me."

 

Wheat considered that for a moment, then nodded. "I'll tell 'em." Replacing the nearly full cup on the stove, he moved past Curry. Pausing at the doorway, he looked back, a grim smile twisting his mouth. "But don't think any of 'em will take you up on it."

 

Total silence enveloped them after Carlson closed the door. Heyes suddenly realized that he had been holding his breath ever since the Kid had stepped into the cabin, and he exhaled now, slowly. Curry was standing by the stove, his back stiff and ramrod straight, his profile a mask of non-expression. Heyes could only guess at the outrage that must be churning inside him; the Kid's pride was a fearsome thing, and, to him, his manhood had just been challenged.

 

"Damn!"

 

Heyes started at the softly-spoken outburst. He had expected an explosion of violence at the very lease; but his cousin sounded more resigned than angry.

 

"I knew I let this thing with McKee go on too long." That wasn't meant for Heyes; the Kid was talking to himself, berating himself for his imagined show of weakness.

 

"Kid." When Curry didn't respond, Heyes gritted his teeth and pulled himself up onto unsteady legs. Shuffling the few feet necessary, he stopped behind his partner and laid a hand on one stiff shoulder, as much to support himself as to get the Kid's attention. " _I_ know you haven't lost your nerve; _you_ know you haven't lost your nerve. What does it matter what Kyle or Lobo or the rest of the boys think?"

 

"Truth is," the Kid said matter-of-factly, "it _don't_ matter what they think."

 

Heyes wanted to believe that so badly that he actually felt himself start to relax. "Well, then…"

 

"But it matters a whole lot what every other gunhead 'tween here and San Francisco thinks."

 

Heyes frowned, annoyed he couldn't follow his logic. "What?"

 

Slowly, Curry turned, his carefully set features softening somewhat when he faced his cousin. "Believe it or not, Heyes, my reputation has probably kept me _outta_ more gunfights than it ever got me into."

 

Heyes smiled slightly, transferring his grip to his cousin's arm in a failing attempt to keep himself upright. "I guess bein' Kid Curry _does_ have its advantages," he agreed dryly.

 

"Yeah." Taking Heyes' arm, Curry led him back to the bed and firmly pushed him down onto the mattress. Dropping down into the chair by the bed, he pulled off his hat and tossed it onto the bed in disgust. "And what d'you think's gonna happen if word gets around that I back down from Frank McKee? I'll tell you what'll happen," he continued grimly, not giving Heyes a chance to answer. "Every two-bit gunslinger this side of the Mississippi's gonna think I'm fair game. And what's the governor gonna think when he hears I've been in gunfights all over the territory when we're supposed to be stayin' outta trouble?"

 

"But, Kid, if you're Thaddeus Jones –"

 

"There's plenty of men who know who I am, Heyes," Curry broke in sharply. "Know us both on sight. And the only reason I haven't had any trouble with 'em is because –"

 

"—Because you're Kid Curry," Heyes finished soberly. "I know."

 

The blond man nodded. That's what a reputation can do for you," he said quietly. "But it works both ways. If I don't settle things here, now, with McKee, it'll just happen over and over again with somebody else."

 

"And have you stopped to think," Heyes asked, his voice deadly seriously, "what might happen if you _do_ take on McKee/"

 

Curry's pale blue eyes locked with his. "Yeah. I have."

 

Heyes quickly searched his cousin's face, and what he saw there, hidden behind that mask of impassivity made him blanch. "There is another way, you know," he said when he finally found his voice.

 

Curry's sandy eyebrows rose.

 

"We leave," Heyes said simply. "Tonight."

 

The tight muscles in the Kid's face softened. "We're not going anywhere, Heyes. It'll be at least another week 'til you're fit to do any ridin'." Raising his index finger, he tapped the older man's chest for emphasis. "You even _think_ of tryin' it before then, and I'll personally tie you to this bed."

 

Despite himself, Heyes had to smile at the determination in the Kid's tone. Well, he hadn't really expected him to go along with it anyway. "Then we'll have to use Plan B."

 

"And what's Plan B?"

 

Heyes looked him square in the eyes. "You leave. You get out of Devil's Hole today. You can go to Red Rock and stay with Big Mac for a week or so 'till I can get there myself –"

 

"No."

 

"Kid –"

 

"No, Heyes. Leavin' Devil's Hole isn't gonna solve this problem."

 

_But it might just keep you alive!_ Heyes had to literally clamp his mouth shut to keep from shouting the words out loud. The pressure inside his skull made him squeeze his eyes shut and press his fingertips against his temples as pain stabbed through his head. There was a word he'd come across in a book he'd read once: _conundrum_. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now that word seemed like a perfect fit for this situation. He knew, as far as talent was concerned, McKee and Curry were probably pretty evenly matched. But he also knew that the Kid's personal code of honor would prevent him from drawing first, even against a killer like McKee; and that just might give McKee the only edge he needed. There seemed to be no way out, no answer, no solution. At least none that the Kid would agree to.

 

"Heyes? Heyes, you okay?"

 

A light touch on his arm brought him abruptly out of his brooding reverie, and he opened his eyes to find his cousin watching him with a decidedly worried look.

 

"Are you okay?"

 

It was more a reaction to the situation and the constant throbbing in his head and side, and not any real anger toward the Kid, that triggered his sharp reply, but it came out that way nonetheless. "No, I'm not okay!" he snapped. "I've had a headache for the last two days and I'm sittin' here arguing' with a man who doesn't have enough sense to listen to reason!"

 

"I've listened," Curry said, "and everything you've said makes sense."

 

Hearing the unmistakable note of weariness in his cousin's tone, Heyes sighed, running a hand through his hair in defeat. "But?"

 

"But, I'm down to one choice, Heyes. I don't like it any better than you do, but that's just the way it is. And talkin' about it," Curry said firmly, pushing himself to his feet, "isn't gonna change it. So let's stop talkin' about it."

 

"Kid, wait a minute." Heyes just managed to catch his arm. "I want you to make me a promise."

 

Curry dropped back down with an air of dismay. "Heyes, don't ask me to make any promises I can't keep. You know how I feel about givin' my word."

 

Heyes nodded. "I know," he said seriously. "That's why I'm askin'."

 

"Heyes –"

 

"Just hear me out, Kid. Please." Curry took a long, deep breath, but grudgingly nodded to him to continue. "Everything _you_ said makes a certain amount of sense too," Heyes conceded reluctantly. "So, if you really can't avoid a showdown with McKee, I want you to promise me you'll make the first move against him."

 

Curry's jaw dropped. "What?"

 

"Kid, everybody who knows your reputation knows you don't draw first. You never have. McKee knows it too, and he's gonna count on that. He won't be expectin' you to make the first move."

 

Curry's mouth was set in a way Heyes had seen often enough to recognize as trouble. "I can't do that."

 

Heyes' fist slammed down on the mattress. "Kid, he's gonna be tryin' to _kill_ you."

 

The Kid's face was grim. "Look, Heyes, so far I've been able to face myself when I get up in the mornin' 'cause every man I've ever shot has been in self-defense. But if I draw first, it won't be self-defense; it'll be murder."

 

"Not if he's tryin' to kill you!"

 

There was real strain in the Kid's voice when he answered. "It will be to me."

 

"Hey, you in there! Curry! I want you out here! We got somethin' to settle!"

 

Heyes looked at his cousin in alarm, but he saw no surprise in Curry's eyes.

 

"Sounds like McKee thinks I let it go on too long, too." Curry gave a brief, humorless laugh and ran his fingers through his tangle of dark blond curls. "Y'know, Heyes, there _are_ times when bein' Kid Curry has its advantages. But there are other times, like now, when it can be a real pain in the neck." Despite his attempt to keep his tone light, Heyes caught the edge of tension in his voice.

 

"Curry! You comin' out – or do I come in?"

 

"Well, we sure don't want him in here, do we? And I don't suppose he'll be goin' away on his own." For a moment, Curry's eyes locked with Heyes', and he lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. "Might as well get this over with." Clapping his partner quickly on the knee, he stood and strode purposefully toward the door.

 

"Kid."

 

Curry paused in the doorway, but didn't turn.

 

Heyes ran a tongue over his dry lips and tried not to sound as scared as he felt. "I really need that promise, Kid."

 

He saw his cousin's shoulders slump and, a moment later, Curry turned, regret etched into his features. "I know. And I really wish I could give it to you, Heyes. Get some rest, will ya? I'll see you later." But as he turned once again to leave, he hesitated in the doorway and looked back one more time. "But if I don't," he said steadily, his eyes resting on Heyes, "you keep out of trouble, y'hear? The only promise I want out of you is that you're gonna keep goin' for that amnesty, no matter what happens." Then, abruptly, he stepped outside and closed the door firmly behind him.

 

 

 

It seemed to take forever for him to make his way across the room to the cabin door. Pausing there only long enough to gather his strength, Heyes launched himself out onto the porch, grabbing onto the rough railing there to keep himself upright. The air fairly crackled with tension, and he froze as he took in the scene with a sweeping glance.

 

The Kid and Frank McKee easily dominated the tableau in front of the cabin. The two were squared off against one another in a classic gunfighter's stance, their attention completely absorbed in one another. Although Heyes was certain his cousin was aware of his presence, Curry's eyes never left McKee's face.

 

Surrounding the two, but carefully out of the line of fire, were the members of the Devil's Hole Gang, all waiting with an air of curious anticipation. It wasn't that any of these men were particularly bloodthirsty, but no one there was foolish enough to want to try and stop two such dangerous gunmen. Besides, Curry and McKee were probably the two fastest draws in the West, and there was a sort of sense that history might be made here today and they were going to be eyewitnesses to the event.

 

Heyes found his attention torn between McKee and his cousin. The Kid had told him once that, in a gunfight, the mistake most amateurs made was to watch their opponent's gunhand. _"You watch his face,"_ his cousin had told him sagaciously, _"not his hand. When a man's gonna draw, you'll see it on his face first. If you want to see his hand move, you'll be dead."_

 

Remembering that now, Heyes stared hard at McKee's lean face, trying to see what his partner was seeing. But all he saw there was cruelty, and a ruthlessness that chilled him to his soul. How the hell could the Kid read anything on that bastard's face? It was like a slab of cold, chiseled marble.

 

His eyes flickered quickly to his cousin's face, but he found no comfort there. He'd seen that look on the Kid's face countless other times. There was no emotion there, no sign whatsoever as to what he might be thinking or feeling. Or, indeed, if he has thinking or feeling anything. The few times the Kid had talked about times like these, he said there usually wasn't much time to think about anything, and anyway there really wasn't much to think about other than staying alive.

 

"I got no argument with you, McKee."

 

The Kid's icy-calm voice jerked him away from his thoughts, and Heyes unconsciously tightened his grip on the railing.

 

"Maybe you got an argument, but you just don't realize it."

 

There was nothing rash or careless about Frank McKee. Heyes had realized that the first time he'd met him. The man was a seasoned gunfighter who knew his craft. A few years older than the Kid, with a full black moustache that he kept meticulously groomed, he hadn't survived this long without knowing exactly what he was doing.

 

"Y'know, I've heard a lot of stories about you over the years, Curry. But then, I guess you can't believe everything you hear, can you?" McKee's mocking tone was designed to anger his opponent, to push him into some reckless act, but there was no outward reaction from Curry.

 

"I've heard a lot about you too, McKee," Curry replied coldly. "Seems like most of what I heard was true."

 

"If you mean that I'm the kind of man that don't back down from a fight, then you heard right. But you, on the other hand…your reputation don't seem to measure up. _Kid_."

 

Heyes' eyes shot back to his cousin's face, but the Kid wasn't taking the bait.

 

"Is that what this is all about, McKee? Because you don't like my reputation?"

 

"I don't think a man ought'a be allowed to walk around hidin' behind a reputation, if he ain't prepared to back it up."

 

"And this is how I'm supposed to back it up?"

 

_"if you got the guts."_

 

That should have been Curry's cue; the challenge couldn't have been more blatant, and Heyes held his breath in fearful anticipation. But, after a brief, strained silence, during which no one dared to so much as blink, it became glaringly obvious that the Kid wasn't going to make the first move.

 

_Damn it, Kid, draw!_ His chest felt so tight it was painful to breathe, and Heyes felt a bead of sweat trickle slowly down the side of his face. His hand drifted to the gun he'd hastily strapped on. By god, he promised grimly, if McKee killed the Kid, he'd die where he stood. He'd never killed a man before, but no man would deserve it more…and no man would have a better reason to pull the trigger.

 

"Looks like I was right about you, Curry." McKee's jeer shattered the building silence. "I knew you didn't have the guts. But, see, _your_ reputation is standin' in the way of _my_ reputation, and I aim to do somethin' about that, here, today. And knowin' what kind of…man you are, I figured I'd have to give you a real good reason to oblige me."

 

The Kid sounded almost bored. "And I suppose you got a real good reason."

 

McKee's mouth twisted in what passed for a grin. "The best. I'm the one that shot your partner."

 

Heyes felt like he'd just been kicked in the stomach. For an instant, no one reacted. Then a rumbling murmur went up from the group surrounding the two men, and something flickered across Curry's face in the first sign of emotion he'd shown. Heyes saw his cousin's shoulders stiffen, but when he spoke, the Kid's voice was deadly cold.

 

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

 

"Your partner was shot just as you two were ridin' through Carson's Pass. It was a Winchester, one shot, that came from the north, up on the rocks. I was reeal careful," McKee drawled, "not to kill 'im. I just hith him back enough so's you'd have to bring him here to patch him up."

 

Heyes felt his mouth go dry. McKee was telling the true. He knew it; knew it just as sure as he was standing here that it was McKee's slug the Kid had dug out of him. He knew it, and he knew by the expression on Curry's face that the Kid knew it too.

 

"Been tryin' to meet up with you for a long time, Curry, to settle things. But I wanted it to be _you_ , not some drifter named Jones. It was real lucky I happened to spot you when I did."

 

"Yeah." Curry's voice was barely a whisper. "Real lucky."

 

Even from where he was standing, Heyes could see the slight trembling of his cousin's body as the Kid struggled to contain the rage that threatened to erupt inside him. All eyes were on Curry now, everyone staring at him as if hypnotized, all waiting for the explosion that they knew had to come.

 

When he spoke again, the Kid's voice was almost unrecognizable. "You must want to die real bad, McKee."

 

"Don't plan on dyin’ at all, Curry – at least, not today, and not from the likes of you." A slight, malicious smile curled the gunman's lips. "But I guess I gave you a good enough reason to try."

 

Curry's nod was barely perceptible. "Yeah. You gave me a good enough reason."

 

There was a moment of such incredible stillness that it seemed like the whole world had stopped. Then, in an instant, it was over. Even though Heyes' eyes never left his cousin, it all happened so fast it was nothing more than a blur in his mind. It wasn't until a split second later that he realized there must have been two explosions; but at the time it sounded like only one. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McKee's body jerk sharply, then drop like a rock to the ground. But he also saw Curry take an involuntary step backwards, and detected the streak of scarlet that immediately appeared on his shirt along his ribs.

 

"He's dead!" Kyle looked up from where he was crouched over McKee's body, his eyes wide with awe. "Shot clean through the heart!"

 

From his position along the perimeter, Wheat ambled over to the Kid, giving the fallen body only the briefest glance. "Kyle, you and Hank get him outta here," he ordered calmly, "and the rest of you boys get back to what you was doin'. Show's over." Turning to Curry, he observed, "That was mighty fine shootin', Kid. Don't think I've ever seen faster." Nodding toward the spreading crimson on the blue shirt, he asked, "How bad's that?"

 

The Kid touched the stain with his hand and seemed surprised when his fingers came away wet. "Just grazed me, I guess."

 

Wheat glanced up at Heyes, his tone dry, "Well, maybe you'd  better get inside before Heyes tries to come out there and drag you in." He started to turn away, then paused and looked back at Curry, a strangely thoughtful look on his face. "He had it comin', Kid. You gave him a fairer chance than he ever gave anybody else…and a whole lot more than I would've." With that, he turned and sauntered away.

 

The Kid continued to stand there in the same spot as McKee's body was removed and the members of the gang dispersed to go about their business.

 

"Kid."

 

There was no reaction from Curry, and Heyes raised his voice.

 

"Kid."

 

Slowly, the younger man turned his head, and Heyes nodded back toward the cabin. "C'mon inside and let me take a look at that," he ordered gently.

 

Again, Curry brushed his fingers lightly over the stain, frowning slightly. "It's just a scratch."

 

"Probably," Heyes agreed patiently. "But I'd like to check it out anyway. Now come on." Reluctantly, Curry turned and made his way slowly into the cabin, and Heyes followed. "Sit down and get your shirt off."

 

Curry threw his hand onto the table with unexpected force. "Heyes, will you stop naggin' at me about that? I told you, it was just a scratch."

 

"Um hm. And that 'scratch' seems to be bleedin' pretty good," Heyes retorted, unperturbed. "So sit down and get your shirt off so I can tend to it."

 

Without so much as a glance in Heyes' direction, the younger man strode over to the bed and dropped down onto the mattress. While Curry worked listlessly at the buttons on his shirt, Heyes gathered up the strips of material they'd been using to bandage his own gunshot wound, all the while keeping a careful eye on his cousin. It may have been true that the wound wasn't a serious one, but the initial shock would have worn off by now, and Heyes knew it must be burning like pure fury, although there was no indication on the Kid's face that he was feeling anything.

 

Settling down beside his cousin, he began to blot at the fresh blood to get a closer look at the gash. "It's a little more than a scratch, Kid," he murmured, frowning at the deep furrow created by McKee's slug. Now that he got his first look at the damage, and now that it was finally over, it suddenly hit him how close McKee had come to actually carrying out his intention. That could have been the Kid lying out there in the dirt if not for…

 

He looked up from where he was wrapping the wound, his eyes searching Curry's stoic profile. "You drew first, didn't you, Kid?"

 

There was a long silence. Then Curry nodded. "Yeah," he said shortly, "I drew first."

 

"He'd have killed you if you hadn't."

 

"Maybe. But that's not why I did it."

 

Heyes finished tying off the bandage and tossed the remaining strips onto the bunk. "I know." He knew better than anyone what made Jed Curry tick. He knew that insults or simple angle would never provoke the Kid into killing a man. But a threat to Heyes was a different matter. The Kid had always been content to sit back and let Heyes do the thinking and planning for both of them. But when trouble surfaced or danger threatened, it was the Kid who took charge, and it was Heyes who usually found himself following Curry's lead. With their own unique talents, they each took their particular responsibilities to the partnership, and to each other, very seriously. There was only one situation Heyes could think of that could push his cousin into drawing first on another man. Frank McKee's fatal mistake had been in trying to get to Kid Curry through Hannibal Heyes.

 

"Y'know, Kid," he said finally, "I can't ever remember agreein' with Wheat on anything, but he was right this time. You gave McKee a fairer chance than he deserved, and he didn't give you any choice."

 

Curry eased back into his shirt, showing the first sign of discomfort as his careful movements pulled at the tightly wrapped wound. "Probably," he agreed, still sounding distracted.

 

Heyes gave him a moment, but when he didn't continue, prodded gently, "But?"

 

"But it still don't feel right."

 

Without really meaning to, Heyes smiled, then clapped the younger man on the knee. "Well, I'd be surprised, and disappointed, if it did." For the first time, Curry turned to face him, and Heyes' tone turned serious. "You could never feel right about killin' a man, Kid, no matter how good the reason."

 

There was still traces of chilling anger in the Kid's blue eyes as he met his gaze. "It was a good reason, Heyes."

 

Heyes nodded. "I know. And if that fight had gone the other way, I wouldn't have a good reason, too."

 

For an instant, Curry's eyes widened in surprise, then he nodded in silent acknowledgment. "Well, for more than one reason, I'm glad it didn't come to that."

 

"Yeah," Heyes grinned. "Me too."

 

Curry studied him critically for a few moments, a frown creasing his brow. "Y'know, Heyes, you're lookin' pretty awful."

 

"And people say _I'm_ the one with the silver tongue."

 

But the younger man wouldn't be coaxed out of his worried expression. "Maybe you'd better try to get some rest before supper time. Maybe that hole in your side's not healin' up right. Maybe I'd better –"

 

"Maybe," Heyes interrupted gently, "you'd better stop worryin'."

 

Slowly, Curry's lips spread in the first genuine smile Heyes had seen since they came back to Devil's Hole. "Thought you liked it when I worry."

 

"I like it when you worry when there's a _reason_ to worry. This time there's no reason to worry. I'm healin' up just fine."

 

The Kid still didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

 

Now that this whole mess with McKee was over and his cousin was safe, Heyes felt almost giddy with relief; so giddy in fact, that he threw his head back and laughed out loud.

 

Curry blinked, nonplussed. "What so funny?"

 

Slipping a companionable arm around his partner's shoulder's Heyes tightened his arm in a quick squeezed. "You worry too much, you know that?"

 

"Only because you don't worry at all," the Kid shot back, grinning.

 

Heyes regarded his cousin for a moment. "Not true," he said. "It's just that when I worry, there's usually a very good reason."

 

The Kid held his gaze a moment longer, then slowly nodded. "Yeah. Well, I wish I could tell you all our problems are over, Heyes, but as long as we're who we are, we're always gonna have somethin' to worry about."

 

"Kid, even if we really were Joshua Smith and Thaddeus Jones, we'd still have something to worry about," Heyes pointed out. "As Curry and Heyes, are problems are just a little bigger, and better, that's all."

 

Curry considered that. "Bigger and better, hm? Well…" His eyes brightened with amusement, "We never did do anything by half-measures, did we?"

 

Heyes grinned. "Nope. And no point in startin' now." Giving his cousin a playful nudge, he ordered, "Now go on, get outta here so I can get some sleep."

 

"Sleep?"

 

Yawning, Heyes carefully stretched out on the mattress, luxuriating in the feel of his tightly-wound muscles beginning to relax. "Yes, sleep. I could use a good night's sleep, and tonight, for a change, I have a feelin' I'm gonna get it."

 

Curry obligingly ambled over to the old wooden rocker by the window and eased down into the worn seat. In a move that was purely automatic, he slipped his gun from its holster and flipped over the cylinder to methodically check the load.

 

"Hey, Kid."

 

"What?"

 

"Just do me one favor while I'm sleepin'."

 

"What's that?"

 

Heyes opened one eye. "Stay outta trouble. 'Least until I wake up, okay?"

 

Settling back into the rocker, Curry stretched his legs out in front of him and rested his head against the high chair back. Keeping a casual grip on his gun, he laid it on his thigh and closed his eyes, an impish grin pulling at his lips. "You know what I told you before, Heyes…don't go askin' me to make promises I can't keep."

 

 

**_end_ **


End file.
